Yuri keeps listing towards every tiny touch in a way that makes Victor feel like the one losing his footing. It's impossibly charming, and it makes that ache in his chest tighten a few more turns every time it happens. Yuri, who not that long ago would have bolted across the room, and potentially directly through the wall to the hallway without bothering with opening the door first and using it as intended, leaning into his hand. His touch. Him.

"You look lost in thought."

He does, but it's only part of whatever this look on Yuri's face is, and the rest is nothing he thinks he should poke or prod at too sharply, when this whole evening has been a balancing act of hauling himself back from pushing for too much, too fast, while Yuri slingshots between something like panic and that sudden boldness that made him push up into Victor a few moments ago, stealing his hands and his head and his kisses.

So he shouldn't poke, or prod. Not when Yuri can't find the right words to say when this changed, or even if it changed, and looked so annoyed with himself for the lack of correct vocabulary.

But he does coax. Does put his head to one side to smile winsome and warm, while his hand settles against Yuri's neck, and the other traces down to the small of Yuri's back. "What are you thinking about?"